


A Life Well Lived

by Alethia



Series: Future Imperfect [1]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Missing Scene, Pre-Relationship, Season/Series 03, Secret Messages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27774361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: Sahil frowned in thought. "Our database of all unclassified logs remains intact. Do you have a specific inquiry?"Hope leapt within Michael, bright and sharp. "My family," she said quickly. "I'd like to know what happened to them."
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Christopher Pike
Series: Future Imperfect [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100978
Comments: 30
Kudos: 114





	A Life Well Lived

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scene that takes place immediately after 3.01 "That Hope Is You" because I find it _baffling_ that no one is asking about their families. This was written before I watched 3.07 "Unification III," and unfortunately some of it got jossed by that episode, but I was already ignoring the part of canon where Michael destroyed the suit for no reason, so eh.

After raising the flag, Book headed back to his ship for some sleep, but Michael was too wired. She followed Sahil back to his desk, thoughts still churning through what they could do to track the _Discovery_ , to find other members of the Federation, to reignite that spark of hope for everyone. But even as that preoccupied her, she couldn't help the tiny part of herself that wondered. 

"Sahil, is it true this used to be a Federation relay station?" Michael asked, giving in to her own curiosity. Her own _need_. 

"Indeed, it was," he answered solemnly. 

"Does that mean it still has access to Federation logs?" she asked, hardly daring to hope. 

"Nothing recent, I'm afraid," Sahil said, the apology in his voice. 

Michael shook her head. "I don't need recent."

Sahil frowned in thought. "Our database of all unclassified logs remains intact. Do you have a specific inquiry?"

Hope leapt within Michael, bright and sharp. "My family," she said quickly. "I'd like to know what happened to them."

Sahil softened, _feeling_ that. "Of course. We can do a search for Starfleet logs and any related records. I just need their names."

"My brother, Spock. Father, Sarek, and mother, Amanda Grayson," she said, ignoring the small voice whispering that there was someone else, too; wouldn't she like to know?

Sahil had stilled, staring at her, mouth opening a little in surprise. Eventually he found his voice: "Your brother was The Great Spock?"

Michael stared back. " _The Great_ Spock?" she asked, faint, surprise slipping through her. They'd given him an _honorific_? Her kid brother, running around being addressed as "The Great?" She huffed an absurd laugh. "Oh, he would have been _insufferable_."

That seemed to break Sahil's shock, a tiny smile appearing for a brief moment before softening into awe. "Ambassador Spock did momentous things for the Federation."

Michael's amusement faded, a soul-deep _ache_ rising in its place. "Ambassador..."

"As his father before him, I believe," Sahil said, typing into his display. 

"Yes," she confirmed, looking to the files opening in the air before her, images of much-aged Sarek, Spock, and Amanda at the top of each. 

"There you are. I will leave you to your reading," Sahil said, nodding slightly as he retreated. 

Tears were already leaking out as she took in the opening biographical summaries. Species. Affiliation. Date of Birth. 

Date of Death. 

***

Michael pulled herself out of the files sometime later, thirsty, her head pounding from the tears that had dried on her cheeks. Still, her heart was full, for the lives her family had lived, all they had accomplished, the mark they'd made. She mourned them, of course—especially Amanda's untimely death—but she had known she'd be leaving them behind when she made her choice to bring the _Discovery_ to the future. 

She swallowed. Knowing what happened to her family settled something in her, an emptiness that _ached_ , but one she accepted.

And yet. 

There was still a part of her that felt unsettled, _needing_ to know. Before she'd even made the decision to do it, her hand was typing in another name: 

Captain Christopher Pike. 

The file instantly appeared, his image almost exactly as she'd last seen him, handsome and authoritative, though wearing a different uniform. Michael frowned. That wasn't right. He was too young. 

The first thing she noticed was that while his date of birth was listed, the file didn't include a date of death. Alarm buzzed through her as she skimmed the highlights, familiar with his career history, even more so with the events they experienced together. He'd gone back to captain the _Enterprise_ for several more years before being promoted to fleet captain. 

Something in Michael warmed at that. Of course they had promoted him. 

It was short-lived. She frowned as she read of the baffle plate rupture on the _USS Republic_ , Pike saving the lives of countless cadets, but unable to escape with them. She read of his dire injuries, her throat hurting as her mind flashed to Pike jumping on a phaser to save a little girl. That was Pike, always leaping into danger, damn the consequences. And it had caught up to him. 

The file ended abruptly, with a note that he'd remained on the active-duty service roster after his injury in honor of his great contributions to Starfleet. But that was it. No mention of the rest of his life, no date of death, no _nothing_. For one of the most heavily-decorated captains in Starfleet history? 

Something was wrong. 

Sahil returned bearing a glass of water, which Michael took with a nod of thanks. Still, she couldn't understand this inconsistency. "Sahil, do you know of Captain Pike?"

He nodded, seeming sad. "A legend. It's a shame, what happened to him." A hint of pride flared within Michael at the idea that Sahil already knew about Pike, but it disappeared when he looked at her oddly, frowning. "Was Captain Pike a part of your family, as well?"

It threw Michael, an innocent question, yet one she struggled to answer. "It's—he's—we served together," she finally settled on, it seeming a wholly inadequate summation given what they'd gone through together. But Michael moved past it, not wanting Sahil to pursue the matter. "His file discusses his injury, but it doesn't list a date of death or the circumstances surrounding it."

Sahil's forehead crinkled. "It doesn't?"

"No. Look." Michael gestured to the end of his file, highlighting the text.

He read the words, still frowning. "How odd. My father used to tell the stories of our great captains, of course. Captain Pike is remembered for his endless integrity and his tragic fate."

"But why wouldn't his death be in the record?"

Sahil shrugged. "I cannot say. I'm sorry."

Michael frowned, that sense of _something_ pulling at her. "Spock would know," she muttered, opening his file again and scrolling to his time spent serving with Pike. Once there, she noticed a footnote amended to a sentence about Spock remaining on the _Enterprise_ to serve under its new captain, someone named Kirk. She selected the footnote, the computer scrolling to what looked like an audio file. "What is _that_?" she breathed, leaning in. 

"An audio file?" Sahil suggested obviously, not following. 

"What kind of audio file is _twelve terabytes_?" she asked, hitting the file, opening an audio window. 

A song instantly started playing. It was brief, only half of a song, really, simple and melodic.

Michael's eyes filled as she recognized it. 

"Commander Burnham, are you all right?" Sahil asked, concern in his voice. 

"That's our mother's lullaby. She used to hum it to us when we were young," she whispered, able to hear Amanda's voice even now, soothing her after she'd awoken from nightmares of Klingons and screaming and _blood_. 

Michael swallowed the emotion and played the song again. No, the _first half_ of the song. It ended abruptly, a cursor blinking in the open window. Like it was waiting.

 _Something_ tickled at the back of Michael's mind. 

"Computer, record my voice and input into the open field," she ordered, getting an acknowledging chime. Michael hummed the rest of the song, watching as the computer digitized it, applying the recording to the file. When she finished—

The cursor stopped blinking. 

Suddenly, code was screaming through the window, faster than she could understand—

And Spock appeared, standing right next to the desk. He wore the Enterprise's blue science uniform, clean-shaven, but his eyes held a _weight_ to them. 

Michael and Sahil both stepped back, shocked, as Spock said, "Hello, Michael."

But no, it wasn't Spock. It was a _hologram_ of Spock, she could see that now, his image holding that faint noise of a recording. 

"Computer, pause," she snapped, Spock freezing just as he opened his mouth to continue. 

Michael's heart pounded, the ache within her deepening at sight of him, so young and full of life. "He left me a message," she murmured, eyes stinging again. 

"This was in the data the whole time?" Sahil asked, unable to believe it. 

"People thought it was just an audio file," Michael said, pointed. "Even if they had looked closer, they would need to know the song to access it." She swallowed, realizing. "He wanted me to see this."

Sahil looked to her, understanding in his eyes. "Shall I leave?"

She considered it, ultimately realizing...she didn't want anyone to see her watch this. She nodded, putting her appreciation in her look. "Thank you." 

He nodded back, not seeming offended, and took his leave. 

Michael waited until he was clear and then squared her shoulders. "Computer, resume."

Spock continued speaking, staring at her from hundreds of years ago. "I hope this message finds you one day. It has been several years since your departure. We received your final signal and the galaxy remains intact, leading me to conclude you were successful in your mission. For our part, we have erased Control from the official history. It will contain no hint of how close we came to total annihilation. Unfortunately, that also means there will be no record of your sacrifice, nor of those who followed with you. It seems that some deeds are destined to be so great, they are forgotten."

Michael's throat tightened at that. She knew it would have to be so, that it was the right thing for the preservation of life. She didn't care much about her own legacy, but everyone who came with her? They deserved better. They deserved to be _honored_. 

"There are few who know the full measure of what you did. As time passes, there will be fewer still until one day we will all be gone and those grim events will be lost forever. But you, Michael, you will live on. And given your central role, I believe that you should know the whole truth."

Alarm slipped through Michael at the idea that she didn't. What more could there be? 

"You sacrificed everything to ensure the future. As it turns out, so did Captain Pike." That _pulsed_ through her, Michael not understanding, but Spock was already continuing: "He was never the same after you left. I tried to engage him on it, but all he would say is it was a story for him alone. I only discovered the truth years later, after his injury."

Spock said it evenly, but Michael knew him. He was covering a deep well of emotion. Something about this had shaken him. 

Still, Spock forged ahead. "You likely read the story of the _Republic_ and how the captain saved many cadets' lives, at great personal cost. You likely read that the Admiralty kept him listed as active-duty, even after he could no longer serve, the only officer who ever received such an honor. All of that is true. What you likely did not read is my role in the matter." Spock paused, as if considering his words. "When I heard of Captain Pike's injury, I could not let it stand. A life of such honor met with such an ignominious end? No. It was unjust. So I defied my orders, my duty, Starfleet itself; I collected the captain and I took him to Talos."

Michael's breath caught, memories of the planet slamming into her, the Talosians making her see things that weren't there, feeding off her thoughts, whole lives lived in fantasies of the mind.

"Of all people, you know what that means," Spock said, his voice dark. "The Talosians offered him refuge, their projection able to give him a semblance of his old life, even if it wasn't real. He refused at first, but ultimately relented. What other choice did he have? It was that or slowly waste away." Spock shook his head, once. "I left him there, knowing that I would never be able to return. That I would never know what his life became. I hope he found some happiness. Or, at the very least, a modicum of peace. But I don't know."

Michael felt the ache of that, too, both for her brother _and_ for Pike. She'd clocked his expression at seeing Vina again. She'd felt echoes of him on Talos. It hadn't been a happy experience. 

The idea that he was stuck there for the rest of his life because it was his only option...that didn't sit well. 

But Spock wasn't done yet: "In the course of taking him to Talos, I touched him," Spock said, gravity to his voice, a touch-telepath talking to someone who knew what touch _meant_. "I read his mind. I saw what really happened on Boreth."

Michael blinked. Boreth? She knew Pike had collected a time crystal from the planet, the only person—human or Klingon—who had ever done so in the history of its history. She'd never once questioned _how_. 

She questioned it now. 

Spock took a breath. "When he was there, the crystal showed him his future: an accident that would end his career forever, followed by the horror of wasting away. The monks presented him a choice: he could take the crystal and seal his fate or he could leave it and move into an unknown future."

"But without it there would be no future," Michael muttered, envisioning Pike in her mind's eye, understanding the consequence of his choice. Making it anyway. 

He'd saved them all and never said a word. 

Almost like Spock had heard her, he quirked his head, eyes boring into hers. "Of course the captain took the crystal. He accepted his fate as a small price to pay for the survival of the galaxy. And he lived every day thereafter knowing exactly what awaited him and never changing a thing. He accepted his promotion to fleet captain. He went on the _Republic_ 's training mission that day. He knew. And he did it anyway."

Dimly, Michael realized tears were sliding down her cheeks again. She scrubbed them away, swallowing, trying to get a hold of her emotions. Pike had never given a hint that this was what he'd faced, accepted, to safeguard the future. He'd praised them for _their_ sacrifice, all while keeping silent on his. A sacrifice he quietly followed through on. Because of course he did. 

Michael couldn't help the rage building within her, the sense of helpless injustice at the idea that after that—after _all that_ —the best Pike could get was an illusory life on a planet that tortured him. 

It was _wrong_. 

Spock seemed to agree if the maelstrom Michael could read within him was any guide. "You saved the galaxy with your choices, as did he, and no one will ever know. I do not believe the universe offers us gifts for a life well lived and yet still it seems that some lives deserve...more. I hope you get more, Michael."

Michael's breath hitched, at the genuine hope in that...and in its echo of pain. Because Pike didn't get more and that _hurt_ Spock. 

He controlled himself and continued on: "I did what I could for Pike himself," he said. "I've also begun the process of ensuring his legacy. A task which might be easier had he not spent so much time berating his superiors for failing to live up to Starfleet's ideals," Spock added, dry. 

Michael laughed, something catching in her throat. 

Maybe it wasn't just Spock who _hurt_. 

Spock tilted his head. "Though if he hadn't, he would be a far lesser captain than he was," he amended. Then he moved on. "I believe I will be successful in my efforts. Captain Pike was the best of Starfleet and I do believe it shall honor that. I suppose time will tell."

Given Sahil's knowledge, Michael suspected she knew the answer. 

"What you do with this information is yours to know," he said, voice grave. "But it seems important that you know it. Safe travels on your journey, Sister. I cannot offer you the thanks of a grateful galaxy, as you deserve, but I can offer you my own. You saved me, Michael. More than once. For that, I shall be eternally grateful."

And then, through eyes blurry with tears, the hologram blinked out. 

Michael took a shuddering breath, trying to get control of herself, fearing she may lose her composure entirely. Before it could tip either way—

A different hologram appeared. Michael startled at sight of an old man in sumptuous gray robes, distracting her from the grief sweeping through her—

Until she really _looked_. It wasn't just some old man. It was _Spock_. Many, many years later. 

The visual representation of the passage of her brother's life almost broke her, but before it could, Spock was speaking: "Hello again, Michael." He almost smiled, that old sparkle still present in his dark eyes, the one he got when he was teasing her. "I suspect you didn't imagine you'd hear from me so soon."

Michael laughed, the sound breathy and wet. 

Spock continued on: "It has been many decades since my first message. Likely even longer than your human life, had you lived in our time. I may yet be reaching the end of mine, so I decided to update my message with details I believe would be meaningful to you."

"Gee, call me an emo human, why don't you," she muttered. 

"Yes, this is me indulging your human emotions. You should take it as a sign of my regard," Spock added, dry. 

Michael laughed aloud even as it _stung_. It had only been a few days and she _missed him so much_. 

Spock went more serious, Michael studying him, taking in his gray hair, the wrinkles on his weathered face marking the passage of a life lived. "Both Mother and Father have died. After you left, Mother ached for you every day, a grief only surpassed by the pride she felt for your actions. As for Father, he once mentioned that he could no longer feel you." 

Michael sucked in a sharp breath, _feeling_ the admission of that. That Sarek had cared enough to notice, to talk about the loss. "It is the only time I ever heard him remark on someone who had gone. I trust you know what it means."

Michael nodded, then immediately flushed at doing so. It wasn't like Spock could see her. 

"Upon Father's death, with some difficulty, his katra was returned to the Hall of Ancient Thought. I do wonder if the piece of him you still carry will feel it," he mused. "As I enter the twilight of my life, I wonder if I shall join him there one day. Perhaps that is fitting. Or perhaps not. Regardless, I do not yet know the full breadth of what this life has in store for me. So far it has been...eventful," Spock said, dry again. 

Michael huffed an incredulous breath at the clear understatement.

"I believe it was a worthy life. I worked for greater peace and cooperation and I have seen those efforts realized. What I did was...consequential. I find some satisfaction in that. I hope history reflects the same, though that is not my determination to make." He tilted his head, his eyes warming. "I was even successful in my efforts to secure Captain Pike's legacy. By my last count, he has a shuttle, a city, a baseball team, and the Medal of Valor named after him. I suspect he'd enjoy the baseball team most," he said, deadpan.

Michael smiled. "Probably," she muttered, imagining telling him. The way he'd _laugh_.

"His journals are even recommended reading for all Starfleet officers. If you have time, the tales of his battles with Admiral Cornwell and the Admiralty are most entertaining. Beyond that, there is something...satisfactory to the idea that he continues to train officers, even now." 

Michael nodded, _feeling_ that. If anyone was to influence every generation of Starfleet officers after, it _should_ be Pike. 

But even that wasn't enough. He should have gotten to _live_. 

A shadow seemed to pass through Spock's eyes then. "Talos remains beyond our reach. It has been so many years, the captain must surely have died by now, but I don't know for certain. I don't know if he found contentment, in the end. I know that what I did was logically correct, and the captain did eventually accept the situation, so I find it...curious that I remain unsettled by the affair. My uncertainty...lingers in ways I did not anticipate. In ways I do not find logical," he said, considering. 

Michael could see how much that _bothered_ him, though he would never admit to it. More than he already had, anyway. Though Spock had done what he could, he knew it wasn't just. He knew that Pike ending up on Talos was simply adding insult to injury, even if he had agreed to it. The people who had tried to cage him accomplished their goal, in the end. 

She wondered if Pike ended up resenting it—a fake life supplied by the tormenters who fed off his mental energy. 

She wondered if Spock wondered the same. 

Spock shook off his contemplation. "But it is the past and there is nothing to be done. As ever, I must focus on the future." He straightened, something regal in it that _struck_ Michael, her baby brother grown into The Great Spock. "I expect this will be my last message to you. I have missed you every day, dear sister. Know that I lived out your advice. Know that you made my life better. And know that I will carry your counsel for all the time I have left, with a grateful heart." He raised his hand in the traditional Vulcan salute. "Peace and long life."

Michael returned the salute, tears slipping out. "Live long and prosper," she whispered. 

The hologram blinked out. 

With it, all her energy seemed to go. She crumpled into one of the seats, not even trying to stop the tears, sobbing out all the grief for the family she would never see again. 

***

Later, after she was all cried out, Michael heard Sahil return. She looked up to find him bearing another glass of water, which she took gratefully. "Thank you."

"I trust your message from The Great Spock was informative," he said, clearly curious, but careful, not wanting to upset her. 

"It was. It occurs to me, Sahil, that while we search for the _Discovery_ , you should prepare a copy of the log database from 2250 through 2350, just to be safe. I expect many people will want to look up their families."

Sahil nodded. "Of course."

"And I'd like a personal copy of Spock's message to me."

He nodded again. "Done."

She inclined her head, grateful for his quiet efficiency, but her mind kept circling the thought that wouldn't let her go. The thought that rose out of the ashes of grief for a family she couldn't reach. 

There was someone else she _could_. 

"Thank you," she said, standing, making sure to put genuine feeling into it, despite her distraction. "I need to return to my comrade, but I'll check back in. Message me if you find the _Discovery_."

Sahil bowed his head, formal. "Until we meet again, Commander Burnham."

She returned the gesture. "Until we meet again, Chief Sahil." Then she turned and headed for the door, the _thump thump thump_ of her heart pounding with every step as her mind whispered that this was a thing she could do. 

This was a wrong she could right. 

As she moved, she activated her communicator. "Book, we still have the suit in storage, right?"

Book's voice over the comm was wry. "You mean the heap of metal the computer said would take ages to fix?"

"Dig it out for me. I'm on my way back." She could take some time to repair the suit while Sahil searched. It might not even work. 

Then again, it _might actually work_. Michael's gut roiled at that idea. She could do it. 

She could rescue Pike at the moment of his accident without affecting the timeline. She could bring him to the future, as if he'd chosen to join everyone on the _Discovery_. Michael understood why he couldn't make that choice back then. Not only had he had responsibilities to the _Enterprise_ , but he'd agreed to his fate. He felt honor-bound to see it through. And according to Spock, he had.

But Michael had touched that time crystal, too. It had shown her Leland's rampage, killing them all. It had shown her the "future." _So that she could change it_. 

She could change this, too. She could right a wrong _and_ take away Spock's uncertainty, erasing the terrible compromise he never should have had to make. Surely, a friend's heroic death would be easier to bear than a lifetime of wondering if he had alleviated pain...or caused even more. 

Book finally came back on the comm. "Found it. Dare I ask what you're planning now?"

Hope bubbling up, more certain than ever that this was how it was _meant_ to be, Michael smirked. "I need to see a man about a horse."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.

**Author's Note:**

> If you squint, this could play as a prequel to [A Moment in Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18550891).


End file.
